


What Else

by leahalexis



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-02-26
Updated: 2003-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leahalexis/pseuds/leahalexis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike stands up to Buffy, post-"Get it Done."</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Else

Didn't last long. Didn't even get a whole smoke 'fore the thing sunk in.

Wasn't right. Wasn't what I wanted. Not like this.

Don't get me wrong, wasn't that it wasn't good. The blood on my mouth (yeah, so it was mine, what of it?), the feel of the duster weighin' on my shoulders, the sound it made hittin' the wall behind. Like old times. Bloody rebirth, it was. Right down to the dead body startin' to smell at my feet. Hadn't felt so good in years, not since I offed the Chinese Slayer (don't think about Chao-Ahn now, don't mess it up) a hundred years ago. And my Slayer'd been the one to send me to it. That was the kind of poetry I liked. The kind with some irony.

There I was, breathin' hard—for show you know—slumped and laughin' like I was off my gourd against the side of the alley. Hurtin' in places I'd forgotten about—outside places, not the inside ones I'd been sufferin' of, of late. Made everything right with the world. Rush of adrenaline, smoke in my lungs. Had a song in my bleedin' heart there for a bit and everything. Demon got to fight, soul got a reason to let it. No havin' to feel bad for wantin' blood—figuratively, o' course. No havin' to hold myself back. William the bloody struggle-free.

I start thinking, all that time I spent reinin' myself in, an' for what? For her. Because it was what she wanted, yeah? Except now she was saying it wasn't. That she wanted the old Spike back. Turns out I'd been right all along 'bout what she needed. Felt like I was on top of the world. Forget the insults; Buffy'd finally admitted the thing I'd been tellin' her all along. That she needed me. Needed me how I was. So she needed me to fight? That was somethin' I could do. Somethin' I could get  _right_.

An' I'm laughin' about it there in the alley, usin' my boot toe t' nudge the dead demon, get 'im to join in on the joke, an' suddenly it hits me. Yeah, she needs me. But that's it, that's all. Even now, even after . . . after everything I did, only thing I'm good for is getting' done what she can't or won't do. Isn't about me, isn't about who I am. 's about what I am. What I can do.

It's always for _her_. Bein' good for _her_. Bein' the big bad now for _her_. Not for me. An' whatever I am, it's not good enough. Never what she needs. What else does she want from me? What more did I have to give? _Spike, I can't love you, you're a bad bad man. It doesn't matter that you don't_ do _those things anymore, you still_ want _to, you still_ think  _about them. Spike, why don't you suffer like_ Angel  _does? Spike, why don't you sacrifice everything for me like_ Angel _did?_  And I give her soddin' Angel, and what does she want? Me, back how I was the way she said she hated me. Bitch.

Every time I think I've got it, _every time_  I think I can finally be what she wants, she pulls the rug out from under me. This wasn't goin' to be different. If gettin' her the soul didn't do it, bringin' back the demon—mine or the dead one on the ground—wasn't either. Thinks it's what she wants but it never is. Crazy bint never knows what it is she wants. Much less what she needs.

Slayer'd never stop to think it, but I know. 've always known. Been givin' it to her, haven't I? Supportin' her with the kiddies, backin' her up. Got mixed up some last year, got desperate. Got stupid. An' I wish. . . But I've been makin' up for it, tryin' to be what she needs, fillin' in her gaps. She's the big war general, what she needs is somebody not givin' her trouble, just bein' there ready to toss her the knife. Hold a few of the buggers off while she does 'er work. Maybe I haven't been up to the fight of late, but I haven't needed to be, not 'til now, not til the Slayer's said so.

An' I know where this is headin'. She asked for it but she won't want t' deal with it. Thinks she wants me like I was, but she only wants it when it's good for her. Like I'm her soddin' puppy. _Play dead for me, Spike. Roll over, Spike. Isn't he precious? He's so bloody well-trained. Only growls when I say so._  

Enough. Enough of bein' her lapdog, enough of me actin' like the sun rises an' sets on 'er tight little ass. Can't keep lettin' her decide what I am. Got a soul and long as I have it I'm bloody well goin' t' captain it.

So I toss the cigarette on the ground, haul the demon up by its arms an' drag the body back, do what I'm bid. Need the Slayer back, after all. But then . . .

Do this, get Buffy back. Then make some decisions. Figure out where I fit in.

*

Buffy stood in the kitchen. The sound of regular exhalation by the house's two dozen or so sleeping inhabitants filled the air with what sounded almost like sighing. It had been months since it had been so quiet. Sleeping bags crowded the living room, the hall; no slaying had ever involved as much finesse as picking her way from the stairs to the kitchen doorway, where she promptly stumbled over a brunette curled up on the threshold. Amanda, as it turned out; Buffy was relieved to both know her name and be able to pronounce it. The girl smiled sleepily at Buffy's whispered apologies and fell promptly back asleep.

Now she wasn't sure what to do. Not-sleeping, it appeared, was no better downstairs than up, though the lemon scent was a new and refreshing change from scared, sweaty teenager. She'd tried Giles on his cell to tell him about the demon dust and the brand new challenger for most-impossible-thing-about-saving-the-world-from-the-source-of-all-evil, but he'd been "a bit busy right at the moment" and she was fairly certain that had been fighting she'd heard in the background. Or static. Hard to tell.

She moved the cereal boxes around. Checked how much milk they had left. Decided there was enough to get them through the morning and that there was no real reason for her to go to Sunnydale's one 24-hour convenience store in the middle of the night. She had decided to wait the rest of the night out back upstairs in bed when she saw him. Spike. Outside.

She left the door open and walked out to him. He was standing in the trees, staring away from the house. Though he must have sensed her coming he didn't turn.

"Thought you were asleep in the basement," she said as she came up beside him. "If I'd have known you were up, I would've come and talked to you."

"Right," he said, and glanced finally over his shoulder at her. There was a cigarette burning between his fingers. He took one drag, blew the smoke out. Didn't say anything.

"You're a little crabby tonight," she observed. "Listen, about earlier—"

"Stay away from me."

Her mouth dropped open. He sucked viciously on the cigarette, then pitched it at the ground, grinding it with his heel.

"What?"

He turned to face her. "You heard me. Stay away from me."

"You can't expect—" She tried again. "I don't have time to baby you."

He barked with laughter, muttered, _Time or inclination, pet_. Out loud, he said, "I know."

"Well then? You're not going to _leave_."

"Said I'd fight, an' I'll fight."

"Then how—"

"But no more of this." His mouth was tight. "You don't pretend you care anymore. You give me orders and I'll follow them—I'll fight by your side, I'll protect you, and Dawn, and the whole soddin' house full—but you don't get to say you need me. You don't get to say you're not ready to do it without me."

She crossed her arms, spoke disparagingly, her eyes just short of rolling. "Spike, what are you talking about?"

"We're through, Buffy. Can't take it anymore. Can't take you." He sucked in his cheekbones, looked down. "You were right," he said quietly," to do what you did. Pissin' me off like that. It worked. I needed the kill back. But it hurt me, Buffy. You hurt me. I'm here if you need me." A sad smile flicked over his features. "I always am. To _fight_ ," he amended, and paused. "Otherwise?"

His face hardened. There was a wall there now, a coldness she'd never seen there between them. On his side, at least.

"Keep the bloody hell _away_."

And he turned, and the coat flared, and he stalked off, passing into the dark. In the air there was a stillness, the breath of a town asleep.

Buffy walked back to the house.

What else was she supposed to do?


End file.
